


Bad Dreams

by theroomstops



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Stress, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroomstops/pseuds/theroomstops
Summary: David’s always had nightmares, ever since he first deployed. Progressively worse with every tour, his mind unfortunately learning from each new wretched experience over there. Finding new ways to torture him, to keep him trapped in his own self and unable to move on. It’s been a little better lately, but he still doesn’t really trust himself. So while she sleeps, he doesn’t. He can’t. He physically isn’t able to trust enough to fall asleep next to someone anymore.David's thoughts as Julia sleeps.





	Bad Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely from David's POV, but it's David and Julia for sure. And it's set on the night David gets out of Julia's bed and views the tablet.

She’s really pretty when she sleeps.

She’s beautiful the rest of the day too, but there’s something so appealing and calming about listening to her deep breaths next to him, especially as his own heart races and his mind wanders into scary, unwanted territories. Especially when he’s been there to see the other side of her. The anxiety and the shaking hands. The panic that doesn’t end and the humanity he didn’t expect.

David’s always had nightmares, ever since he first deployed. Progressively worse with every tour, his mind unfortunately learning from each new wretched experience over there. Finding new ways to torture him, to keep him trapped in his own self and unable to move on. It’s been a little better lately, but he still doesn’t really trust himself. So while she sleeps, he doesn’t. He can’t. He physically isn’t able to trust enough to fall asleep next to someone anymore.

Craddock’s voice plays in his head. Threatening his family. Good call. Evil, surely, but bloody genius because he doesn’t really have a fucking choice now, did he? He’s just stuck in these mind games. His superiors using his fears against him, preying on his love for his children. Falling for a woman one minute and wondering what the hell she was hiding the next. Using his insecurities about her to up their game. So he needs to know. He‘s not going to tell those hawks what he finds out, he has no intentions of that. He will tell them just enough to keep them happy, to keep his family safe and keep them off his back, but he doesn’t foresee himself being disloyal to Julia. Not really. Regardless of what he finds. But he needs to know for himself. So that he can be prepared. Or so he can protect her. Whichever it turns out to be.

And yet, he hates himself a little for what he’s about to do, as he looks over at her. Her hand still on his pillow from when she fell asleep earlier, in the middle of him telling her about growing up in Scotland. She’d been fighting off panic all day. He’d noticed the signs and asked in a brief moment of quiet, her firm and cold “No” not doing anything to ease his worry. She finally admitted it to him as she lay next to him, naked and glowy and unable to fully relax into his touch, culminating in him starting to tell her about his life in order to distract her. He knew from reading up on it that it was supposed to help. And she’d seemed so pleasantly surprised once it started working. Voice soft and inquisitive, asking questions and wanting to know more as he went on. Forgetting about the tremble in her hand as he held it securely in the palm of his. He hadn’t felt as uncomfortable sharing as he thought he might be, but he still held back a little. He had to, until he knew for sure whose side she was on. Whether his instincts had failed him or not.

His task is not really difficult in a practical sense. She’s shown immense trust in him, probably never considered that Craddock would go to those lengths, and it’s quite easy to find the tablet and unlock it. What’s harder is reading it. Reading and then re-reading the details and wondering how on earth he can ever try to hide that he knows. Or knows what he presumes she’s up to. He can’t say he disagrees with her either, the documents provide a horrific, sobering read.

He starts to go back to her bedroom after returning the tablet to its place, but his body feels heavy and tired and he definitely needs the sleep, so he stays in his bed, intending to get a few hours of rest, if nothing else. Hopes their strenuous evening activities has left his body worn out enough to fall asleep.

He has some success, he’s actually asleep when he feels her near him. But the moment she’s close to him, his body awakens, his senses become alert and he wakes to find her staring down at him. 

“Can I sleep here?” She asks, softly and gingerly as she nears the side of the bed. 

Her hair is tousled, still wild from earlier, as she stands in front of him, looking down at him hopefully. He’s a little distracted by the way her shorts ride up on her ass, and quite surprised by her request.

“I... I have bad dreams sometimes.” He struggles to get the words out, a little taken aback and unsure of what he’s supposed to do.

“Me too.” 

He stares at her in the light from the street below that stream through the sheer curtains. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t hold the covers up to allow her in or show any signs of intending to, and she looks... disappointed. It’s actually a little disturbing. He doesn’t like it, nor does he enjoy the feeling it gives him, the way her sadness makes his stomach tighten and ache. 

She straightens her posture and purses her lips and makes an attempt to appear unaffected by his lack of invitation, but she’s not quite successful as she wraps her arms around herself protectively and steps away. “Well, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

His chest is tight and his pulse quick as he tries to make his mind up. A mind still reeling from the contents of her little tablet. Still trying to make up what he thinks her motives are.

“Julia?” She’s made it to the door when he finally opens his mouth. She turns but doesn’t look at him. Only smiles a little when he says, “You can stay for a bit. If you want.” She nods weakly and holds back a second before she slowly begins to climb into bed next to him.

Her body feels nice next to his. Her legs are a little cold, but soft, as they accidentally brush against his under the covers. He hopes she doesn’t feel the adrenaline that is coursing through his body, and showing itself in shakes and uncomfortable trembles as he lies there. She looks at him, her lips twitch upwards and then she sidles closer to press a light kiss on his lips. 

He feels like returning the favor. Because her lips on his appears to have some sort of superpower. The ability to make him forget about everything around him for a second and stay in the moment. Everything the monster in his head doesn’t want. So when she withdraws, back to her pillow, he follows and kisses her back. Pressing his mouth to hers until he’s out of breath and her hand is placed delicately on the back of his neck. Her back warm and soft against his hand as he slides it underneath her top. He retreats back to his own pillow again and lets the space between them breathe in silence, until she whispers softly.

“What do you dream about?”

That slightly open valve from a minute ago shuts abruptly, and he shakes his head and clears his throat and simply replies, “Bad stuff.”

“From the war?”

He feels uncomfortable. Because her eyes are open and trustful and he still knows he can’t really tell her why. He’d only blame her and instead of finding himself in her arms again tomorrow night, like he wants to, she’d walk right out and shut the door permanently. She’d have to. That’s the one thing he wouldn’t blame her for. And... it’s not like she actually wants to know, she’s just being polite. No one wants to know. Nor should they probably. So he nods and tries to make it so his voice leaves the matter closed to further discussion. 

“Aye. Just some bad stuff.” She doesn’t quite let him off the hook. Her eyes narrow and she looks at him with genuine curiosity. “People think they want to know, but they don’t.” He sighs and whispers. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“I don’t know what makes you think that your feelings don’t deserve to be heard... But if you wish to tell me, I want to listen.”

He wonders for a moment. Wonders if she’s just delusional and more arrogant than he thought back then, before all this. To think that she’s somehow more capable of listening, of understanding than his own wife... His own mother. He gave up before he even started. They both winced and withdrew as he told them even the smallest details of his reality in the dusty confines of home base at Helmand. And then he wonders if maybe she’s being honest. It sounds _ridiculous_, but her eyes are so soft and inviting as they look at him, that he _wants_ to believe her. 

Another little part of him wants desperately to tell her so that she’ll know. So that she’ll _know_ and never make the same choices she did then again. To hurt her a little, just like he’s been deeply hurt by choices made by her and people just like her. But most surprising of all, he wants to protect her. To keep her safe and cuddled up in his arms, ignorant to the pain he’s experienced. Because as much as he wants to have someone to blame, she’s one of the few sources of good in his life right now. In the end, and perhaps selfishly, he needs what they have more than he likes to admit to himself that he needs anyone.

“David?” He’s zoned out a little as he tried to make up his mind. “What do you dream about?”

“Sand dust. It forms and settles differently every time. Bombs leave you covered in it. But a simple gun shot, you barely notice.”

He tests her first. Revealing only a little. Then watches her as he continues to describe one of his most frequent dreams, the one that replays the accident that disfigured Andy. He doesn’t say his name, keeps him anonymous still. For his own sake, if not Andy’s. He surprises himself, feels that valve release a little again as he details his worst nightmares out loud.

She hasn’t winced yet. Not when he tells her about the bomb that nearly killed him. Not even when he describes the screaming as Andy’s face melted in front of him. Not even when he cries. She simply holds his hand, caresses his face and kisses his cheek as salty tears fall to his lips. Open and present and still listening. 

He forgets to watch for her reaction as he tells her about another, less frequent but more intrusive nightmare. Walking away as the only survivor of a blast he knows should have killed him. Walking alone for hours and hours in the hot sun and with no water as he tried to remember the way back to camp. She kisses his jaw, strokes his clammy neck as she looks at him, not unaffected, but unafraid and unwavering. 

She comforts and holds and kisses, lets him breathe as he lays his fears out in front of her, and then she asks him about a good memory. Something that made him go back. He’s quiet for a while, because he doesn’t really think about the good things, and then he tells her about pizza Fridays and karaoke and competitions to see who could make the bed fastest. He even laughs as he recalls his troop watching their mate seeing his daughter on video for the first time. First time of many. His tiny little daughter in a crib as they sang the only lullaby all of them knew from behind him. Badly. It was hopelessly out of tune, and she chuckles a little as he tries to explain how awful it sounded. He stops after he tells her about pranks they all played on each other, like the time he found himself pouring beer into his hand instead of shampoo. Smiles a little as he looks at her gratefully and kisses her hand.

“What about you? What bad dreams do you have?”

“I’m in the car when the bullets start, and you’re not there.” She whispers into the space between them, shutting her eyes as she breathes deep. 

His heart aches for her then. He wants to tell her about Andy and what he knows, but he can’t. Not yet. Not until they’ve had more time. He looks at her as she turns and lies on her back, looking up at the roof in the dark and then finds her hand in between them. He laces his fingers with hers as he listens to her breaths turn softer, calmer. Until she’s asleep and he can breathe too. 

He doesn’t want to let go, so he lies there looking up at the roof just as she did and wonders if maybe his secrets would be safe with her. She hasn’t laughed, hasn’t winced, hasn’t cried because of him. He doesn’t have to apologize to her, doesn’t have to walk on eggshells. She’s not afraid of him. So maybe he can be worthy of her respect and even of her affection.

Somehow, Julia Montague can take all of him. Take him into her body and let him use all of his immense power to make her feel good. Unafraid to speak back, and ignite some of the fire life has quelled within him. But when there’s nothing left but dark quietness, she can take his broken parts too.

He wants to tell her how he feels. All the things he held back during their first confrontation. He wants to ask questions he’s had for many years and analyze her answers until he’s broken it down and made sense of it. He doesn’t like fighting, but he thinks... he thinks she might surprise him again. That she might be willing to accept his accusations and take his anger. He’s often wondered if that would help any. Seeing her broken didn’t. Andy was wrong. Seeing her broken only broke his heart too. Perhaps unleashing his anger on her would lessen his a little. If she’s willing to accept it, even if she doesn’t get on his knees and grovel for forgiveness as he’d angrily imagined all of them doing over the years, maybe that would make him accept it too. He can’t imagine she would beg forgiveness, he knows enough about her to know that. But a truce, maybe. Acceptance and forgiveness, or something in between.

He looks at her. Studies her face in the weak light. Watches as her eyes flutter and her nose crinkles and soft sighs emit from lips he enjoys kissing. He feels the tremble in his legs becoming less noticeable. His hands less cold and his chest a little less tight. His mind wanders. Through his childhood, memories of his grandparents and his parents beaming with pride on his first day of school. Sports days and crushes and his wedding day. And then meeting Ella and Charlie as they came into the world and turned his upside down. He remembers screams and guns firing and screaming matches with his wife. How much it hurt to feel her withdraw every time. Snatching her hand away and turning her cheek as he went to kiss her goodbye. And then... then he thinks about _her_. About Julia. Her hand seeking out his in the car and again that night. Of her face that lazy early morning when they hadn’t slept much at all. He feels her hand twitch in his and he feels a little safer. A little calmer. He welcomes it. Allows the feeling to spread in his body and make him feel woozy and tired...

She twitches and murmurs, and he wraps his arms around her. To keep her safe from whatever’s chasing her behind her eyelids. One hand caressing hers until it soothes her, another stroking her hair because it feels nice. Panting breaths turn into slow and steady ones again, and it makes him feel good. His presence hasn’t been calming to another person in a long, long time and it makes him feel useful.

David listens as Julia inhales and exhales in even rhythmic sounds. Feels his body calm down more than it has in a long time. And then... he sleeps. For the first time in six years and five months, David Budd sleeps soundly, next to someone, for three solid hours.

In the morning he finds freshly brewed coffee steaming in a white mug on the nightstand as he wakes to the sound of a softly whispered ‘Good morning’. His mind is hazy, he just barely notices her leaving his room out of the corner of his eye as he sits up. Three hours of solid rest is more than he usually gets. His brain feels foggy, but clearer at the same time. His chest lighter and his curiosity peaked.

He wants to do this again. Thinks that maybe if they did that every night, the sex and the talking and then the sleep, he might feel normal at the end of it. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s wrong, he needs far more help than she can give him. But until he’s ready, maybe she’s his unexpected flicker of light. Making him see things clearer in the distance. Helping him.

She’s every inch the professional when he sees her next. She smiles as he closes the hotel room door after her and wishes her good morning. Not that firm, public version that doesn’t reach her eyes, but warm and genuine, a little more like when they’re alone and without armor. 

“Sleep well, ma’am?”

“Yes, very well, thank you. You?”

“Never better.” He means it. 

He contemplated what to do with this new information as he ate breakfast. Wondered if their relationship would be strong enough for him to tell her without her leaving. He assumes it isn’t. They’re still them. Still two very fallible, traumatized human beings. Iron wills that match each other in strength and capacity. Still opposites. He’s still betrayed her trust. He’d like to make up for it. He’d like to see what this could be, who she is if she really allows him to know _her_. And he’d like to know who he could become if he continues to share his soul and his bed with her, unburdened by the ghost of who he used to be and unfulfilled vows.

For all her flaws and for all of his, they’ve made each other a little better. Washed away the bad dreams, and helped each other breathe a little easier.

**Author's Note:**

> Focusing and reading through things is rather difficult right now, so to say this was properly edited is... So, if you see a lot of mistakes/typos here, please don't feel bad for pointing them out. I'd love to correct them :)


End file.
